


Secret Keepers

by picascribit



Series: Lily Arc [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Babies, Betrayal, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Dark Magic, F/M, Fidelius Charms, First War with Voldemort, Miscarriage, Motherhood, POV Female Character, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-27
Updated: 2005-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-24 08:54:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/picascribit/pseuds/picascribit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1981: In the final days of the First Wizarding War, Lily resorts to Dark magic, James is not a hero, Peter justifies himself, Harry sees all but understands nothing, and everyone has secrets to keep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lily's Secret

**Author's Note:**

> The four parts of this story, each told from the point of view of a different character, are meant to fit together into a coherent whole, but it is not necessary to read all of them or to read them in any particular order. I have arranged them here in the order I think works best, and while I know many people might choose to skip Peter's chapter, that one was actually my favourite to write, and I encourage you to check it out.
> 
> This story is slightly AU due to having been written before the publication of HBP.
> 
> Warning: This story has not been edited yet, and may contain unintended problematic elements and tropes.

I awaken suddenly, feeling sick to my stomach. I always seem to feel nauseated these days. James, Harry and I are under constant threat, and the hell of it is that we have no idea where it's coming from. I am so afraid. I trust James to sort out the Fidelius Charm of course, and I know he'll do what he can to protect us, but my fear isn't for James or even for myself; it's for my baby. 

James and I have both done any number of things to incur the enmity of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, but Harry is innocent. He's only a baby, but that won't make a difference to them. They'd kill him without a second thought. 

It's not fair. But that's the nature of war, I guess. At least James and I have had a chance to live good lives, however brief. Twenty-one years may not be very long, but in that time we've known happiness, friendship, joy, love. We've had _lives_. Harry's just beginning his. He deserves a chance. And he'll have one, as long as there's anything I can do about it. 

Opening my eyes, I stare at the ceiling in the predawn autumn light. 

I don't care what it takes; I'll find a way. Even if we all go down in flames, Harry, at least, will live. 

I turn my head and gaze at my husband's profile, silhouetted against the gray light filtering in through the curtains. James looks troubled, frowning in his sleep as though he's still puzzling through the problems that hound him during his waking hours. 

Will either of us ever sleep peacefully again? I nearly reach out a hand to brush his cheek, but think better of it. It looks as though he's clenching his jaw in his sleep. I should let him get what rest he can. 

Moving carefully so as not to wake him, I quietly sit up and put my feet on the cold floor. Shivering, I quickly grab my green silk dressing gown from a nearby chair, and my wand from the nightstand. 

" _Thermis_ ," I say quietly, laying the wand tip against the cool cloth. 

Warmth blooms out of the soft, green folds, and I quickly swirl the garment around my shoulders, enjoying the feel of warm silk against my skin. 

Quietly, I close the bedroom door behind me and tiptoe down the hallway to the nursery. 

Harry, at least, is sleeping peacefully. He's sprawled on his front, face turned away from the dawning light, a thumb in his mouth and the soft toy Snitch Remus and Sirius gave him for Christmas clutched in his other fist. The toy's wings flutter feebly, as if it's trying to escape. 

Smiling, I pull the blanket up over my sleeping son's shoulders. "You'll live, Harry," I whisper. "You will. I'll see to it." 

Professor Flitwick once said that there's not a charm that I couldn't manage if I put my mind to it, and it's said that mother-love is a powerful magic of its own. If I can't find a spell that will protect my son, then I'll make one. 

"I won't let them have you," I promise, stroking his downy black hair. 

Leaving the room as quietly as I entered, I continue down the hallway to the bathroom. In the mirror, I see a slender young witch, still half a girl, with dark red hair falling nearly to her waist, and wide, scared-looking green eyes. Her jaw, though, is set in grim determination. Once an Evans has come to a decision, God help anyone who tries to shake her of it. 

Surprisingly, now that I've set my mind to the task of saving my baby, I'm not afraid anymore. I don't feel helpless now that I'm doing something. 

But if I'm not afraid anymore, why do I still feel nauseated? Unless -- 

* * *

There are moments after my dawn realisation that I nearly tell James, but the strain of our current situation is clearly taking its toll on him, and I don't want to add to his anxiety. 

We've talked about having another baby -- we both want more children -- but not until the war is over. Under any other circumstances, my condition would be cause for celebration. Just not now. Stupid body. 

James spoke with Dumbledore earlier this week about setting a Fidelius Charm on the house, and he tells me he'll be able to do it soon. He's chosen Sirius as our Secret-Keeper, of course, though I'd prefer Remus. He's always been the more responsible of the two. But James won't be moved. Sirius is Harry's godfather; he won't let any harm come to him or to any of us. 

I'm planning a supper for the Marauders on the night before the charm will be performed. It won't be much of a celebration, but it'll be good to see everyone one last time before -- Who knows how long it will be before we can safely resurface? 

Maybe supper would be a good time to make an announcement. We could all use some good news. 

No. James should know first. Maybe I'll tell him after. Or maybe it'd be better to wait until the current danger has passed. By then, he may have figured it out for himself. He's normally fairly perceptive, but he's so preoccupied lately. Sometimes I doubt he'd notice if I charmed my hair purple. 

Poor James. I've noticed a strand or two of white mixed in with the black spikes and cowlicks of his hair. I don't mention it to him, though. I'll be going white before long, too, if things don't change soon. But there's no end to the war in sight. At the current rate, it'll be Harry and his generation who finally bring down Voldemort. 

Harry is so fussy lately. He's picking up on our anxiety, I think, and expressing it the only way he knows: with a scrunched-up, red face and tears, not to mention sudden outbreaks of nappy rash. The only times he's truly happy anymore are when he comes back from rides on that flying motorbike of Sirius's. 

I'm fond of Sirius, but it's a long way from "fond" to thinking my baby's safe with him, flying all over God only knows where. But if it make Harry happy where nothing else seems to these days, how can I refuse him that? He's such an odd duck, my sweet boy. While most babies fuss about the cold, he seems to like the feel of the wind in his face, and he never tires of being outdoors. 

He won't even be able to have that, once the Fidelius Charm is in place. We'll be confined to the house for weeks -- maybe months. For now, though, we'll enjoy our last day of relative freedom. I'm taking Harry out into the garden. 

Harry fusses as I pick him up from the sitting room floor. He's been shrieking and throwing his toys all over the place. Bundling him into a tiny red-and-gold striped jumper, I carry him out into the crisp autumn air. 

He stops shrieking, but he still doesn't seem happy. I set him on the ground and take his chubby hand so he can walk with me. He's grown so fast. It seems like only yesterday, he was just learning how to walk. I wonder what he'll think of having a little brother or sister? 

It's been driving me mad, not telling anyone, and it suddenly occurs to me that I _can_ tell someone; I can tell Harry. I know the words have almost no meaning to him, but he's still _someone_ , and someone dear to my heart. I pick him up again, and we sit in one of the garden chairs, Harry facing me on my lap. 

"Harry, Sweetie," I say to him earnestly, the words sounding strange to my ears, "Mummy's going to have another baby. You're going to be a big brother!" 

Harry looks at me uncomprehendingly, of course, but he sees I'm smiling, and smiles back. I sigh and set him on the ground again, watching as he toddles down the path and in among the plants. 

I suddenly wonder if Remus will be able to guess. He has a werewolf's sense of smell and animal instinct, and is as aware of the tides of body and moon as any woman. James says that he knew almost right away, last time. But he and Sirius are as preoccupied as James, these days. And if Remus _does_ notice, he'll have the sense not to say anything until I do. 

They'll be here soon. I should really get back to the house and start working on supper. I wish I could leave Harry to play in the garden by himself, but I know he'll get himself into trouble the second my back is turned. If he were older, maybe I would. But not now. Not today. 

"No, Mama!" he squawks in protest as I disentangle him from a growth of Scarlet Ivy which has twined itself around his arms. I carry him, squalling, back into the house. 

* * *

Remus and Sirius arrive just as I'm setting the table. Sirius goes into the sitting room to play with his godson, but Remus takes both my hands in his own and gives me a look of deep concern. 

"How are you holding up, Lils?" he asks, giving my fingers a squeeze. 

"As well as can be expected," I say evasively. "Better in some ways, not so much in others." 

"Is there anything I can do?" he asks. "I feel like I've been useless to you lately. Everyone's so tense, and no one's talking about anything. You know if you need to talk, you can still come to me, right?" 

"I know," I assure him, smiling tiredly. "Remus, you are dearer than a brother to me. But you know why no one's talking." 

He nods darkly. "Do you suspect me, Lily?" he asks, tone suggesting he is only mildly curious. 

"You know I don't, Remus," I say, squeezing his hands. "But you never know when someone might be listening. Don't worry." I try to smile again. "There will be plenty of time to talk later, when this bloody war is over." 

He nods grimly. 

We go to the door of the sitting room. Sirius is throwing the toy Snitch to Harry, and Harry is trying to catch it, giggling and shrieking uproariously. 

Remus sighs deeply, causing me to glance up at him. He's watching Harry and Sirius with a look of such deep yearning that it squeezes my heart. I want to ask him if he's picked up the application to adopt from the Ministry yet, but I know it'll get him on the subject of children, and then he'll ask if James and I have talked any more, and once we get on _that_ topic there's no way for me not to tell him. I want James to know first, so I don't ask. Instead, I ask him how things are between him and Sirius. 

He shakes his head. "Tense," he says. "Like everything else. You don't think --" he asks haltingly "-- he might be the one who --?" 

A rush of pitying tears blurs my vision. "I don't know," I say, squeezing his hand and wishing I had more comfort to offer. "I hope not." 

But that only leaves Peter, who surprises us all by showing up soon after James arrives home from his last day at the Ministry. Peter hasn't been around much lately -- busy, he says, caring for his sick mother. None of us have seen much of him in months. 

James insists that Peter wouldn't have the nerve to go anywhere near Voldemort and his Death Eaters, but I don't see it like that. The others are edgy, but Peter is downright twitchy. He jumps at every sound. Looking at the short, plump young man with lank, colourless hair sitting at my table, I wonder if it's him. 

James says he doesn't believe it's any of his friends, and that Voldemort must be getting his information some other way. His confidence in his three friends is absolute, and he simply can't imagine one of them turning traitor. Maybe he's right. After all, he's known them better and longer than I have. Maybe it's just that I've never been close to Peter. Maybe I even _want_ it to be him. He's never been family to me like Remus and Sirius are, and his loss wouldn't be nearly as devastating. 

It's a risk to have them all here at once, when even Dumbledore thinks that one of them is a turncoat, but James insisted, and I wanted to see Remus and Sirius one more time before the charm is performed. I wonder sometimes, though, if James has suspicions. Maybe he's just putting up a brave front, to allay my own fears, or just out of his usual, infuriating overconfidence. 

Tonight, he looks grim as hell. I keep catching his eyes flashing from face to face, looking for clues in each of his friends' expressions or body language. His eyes flicker most often to Peter. Maybe he suspects him, too. I reach out to touch his arm for reassurance for the dozenth time tonight, reaffirming my trust. If he knows where the danger lies, then he'll be better able to protect us. 

"Sure, I could take Voldemort in a duel," he says with the maddening arrogance that always accompanies his most outrageous boasts. "It's just all those minions and people under the Imperius Curse that get in the way. If someone would just take him out, the whole Death Eater thing would collapse. Wait and see." 

"Your overconfidence will be the death of us all, James," I murmur before I can stop myself. I'd meant it as a joke, but it falls flat as my voice quavers. They're all terrified for us and for themselves to find any humour in the situation. Well, I'm scared too, but at least I'm doing something about it. 

Harry fusses and cries all the way through supper, and when Remus offers to take him out into the garden again afterwards, I gratefully accept, even though it is beginning to grow dark. 

After supper, James takes Sirius aside to make arrangements for casting the Fidelius Charm tomorrow, and I know I'm not needed for that. I offer to entertain Peter in the sitting room while James and Sirius talk in the kitchen, but Peter praises my efforts over supper and says he can entertain himself, if I want to take a quick rest. I must say, I'm grateful for some time alone. 

I'm physically exhausted, but I don't want to sleep. For days, I've been researching; seeking some charm -- some spell -- that might suit my purpose, and gathering the strongest protective ingredients I can find, but I haven't yet found any magic strong enough to offer sure protection for my baby. 

As I lie on our bed, staring at the ceiling, drifting on the gray shallows of exhaustion, it hits me like a bolt of lightning. I don't just need a spell that will shield Harry; I need one that will _defend_ him -- something that will deflect the power of an attack spell back onto the attacker. My tired brain remembers something Remus once told me about long ago: a mirror that reflects a person's desires. 

A mirror spell might work, if it were strong enough. Something to reflect the desire to do harm back on the aggressor. As I lie, unmoving, the pieces of a plan begin to draw together and take shape in my mind. 

I know what I have to do now, but it's bloody close to the Dark Arts. I'll have to do it when James isn't around to object. Maybe tomorrow, when he and Sirius are putting the Fidelius Charm in place. He won't need me for that. I'll have half an hour -- maybe longer -- to do what must be done, and James need never know about it. It can work -- I'm almost certain. It _has_ to work. Harry will be safe. 

Quickly, I get out of bed and organise the items I'll need for the spell, securing them in a safe place, then I return to the kitchen. Peter's there now, which must mean that James and Sirius are done making arrangements for the charm. James rises as I enter the room. I sag gratefully into his warm embrace. 

"Did you get any sleep, Love?" he asks, kissing the top of my head. 

"None," I admit. "But I feel better. Have you -- got everything sorted out?" 

He gives me one of those Quidditch captain smiles of his -- the kind that always made my belly shiver when we were at school, though I never admitted it at the time -- and it has the expected effect, despite the tiredness in his eyes. 

"Yes," he says. "I think I've got it all figured out. We'll do it tomorrow, like we planned." 

Then Remus comes back in with Harry, eyes haunted and bloodshot from tears. James takes Harry from him, and thanks him with an unusual depth of emotion. Remus nods wordlessly. I put my arms around him, say goodbye, and stand on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, holding back my own tears. Sirius is already waiting at the door, pulling on his leather jacket. 

James and I stand in the doorway with Harry, waving goodbye as Peter mounts his broomstick and Remus swings up behind Sirius on the bike, and the three of them rise up out of Godric's Hollow. As they shrink into specks, and finally disappear into the night sky, I suddenly feel very much alone. Then James is there behind me, putting his arms around me and Harry. I feel his lips, soft against my ear. 

"So, Sirius will be coming by tomorrow afternoon, then?" I ask distractedly, still gazing into the darkness. 

"Hmmm?" he murmurs against my neck. "Oh. Yeah. We'll do the charm sometime tomorrow afternoon." 

"Good," I say. "I expect we'll all feel safer once it's been done. But I'll miss everyone." 

"Me too, Love," James says regretfully, giving my shoulders a squeeze. "Me too." 

* * *

I can't sleep. It's always difficult these days, but tonight -- the night before I do what I must -- the night before the Fidelius Charm imprisons us indefinitely in our home -- sleep is an especially long time coming. James moves, turning toward me. His hand slides across my belly. I'd thought that he, at least, was asleep. 

Maybe I should tell him now. Maybe he already knows. "James --" 

" _Shhh_." He gathers me into his arms, warm hands running over my body. I turn to him willingly, seeking distraction from too many days of dark thoughts. 

James is good at what he does -- bloody good. He's thorough, never taking any part of me for granted, and always grateful, as if he's still surprised that he won me. My body responds effortlessly to his devotion. 

My arms twine around his neck, and I pull him down to me so that our lips meet -- so that the secret weight in my womb is cradled between us, safe, almost as close to him as it is to me. I try to speak again, but his mouth is warm against mine, and by the time he releases me from the kiss, the desire to tell at once has passed, replaced by more pressing desires. 

I shiver as his tongue briefly teases the hollow of my throat, then continues its downward journey. His lips finds my swollen breast, and he drinks hungrily the milk that still flows for our son. My heart races as my body responds, providing sustenance for love. My hands tangle in the dark whorls of his hair, pressing him hard against my breast as a soft moan escapes me. I will protect you, too, my Love, if I can -- with my body and my life, if I must. 

"You're beautiful, Lily," he murmurs, nuzzling my belly. 

With a sigh, I part my thighs to him, opening to the warmth of his mouth. My hands, still tangled in his hair, urge him not to stop. Weeks of tension stored up in my body flow away as I yield myself to the magic of his mouth. 

He takes his time, always giving the impression that there's nowhere he'd rather be, and nothing he'd rather be doing. His mouth moves eagerly, but he never hurries, and I never feel rushed to respond. I know he will happily keep going for as long as it takes. He never stops until my soft cries and the movements of my hips inform him of a job well done. 

Only then does he make his way up the contours of my body, until he finds my mouth again with his. I return his kiss hungrily, tasting myself on his lips, sliding my hands over his back, settling them on his hips, wanting, needing, trying to draw him into me quickly. 

But he takes his time about that, too, settling himself unhurriedly between my thighs. I know he wants me as badly as I want him, but I also know that he'll put off the moment of our joining just a little longer, until he finds the pleading he so desires in my eyes. I give it to him gladly. 

His eyes hold mine as he lowers his hips, and I can feel him pressing against my entrance, questing, questioning. I raise my hips in answer, opening to him, gasping my pleasure at the feel of him sliding inside, filling me, until our bodies are pressed together from mouth to knee. Then I feel him move inside me, and my eyes flutter closed. 

His lips find mine again, and my response is electric. I want to keep him safe inside my own skin, this man I love, close as the new life blooming within me. Eagerly, I taste his mouth. Clutching his shoulders in a surprising surge of strength, I move, pressing up against him, and in an instant, he's on his back, my thighs cradling his hips protectively, and my hair floating in sheltering waves around us both. 

I press both his hands to the bed, holding his body still between my thighs as I move against him. This time, it's his eyes that close, his head that tilts back, his lips parting in a soft moan. I move my hips against him, demanding, elated by the feeling of control over at least this one moment in time. He gasps and moans again, trying to free his hands for my service, but I keep them pinned against the pillow. I swivel my hips against him, enjoying it as much as he does, though for a different reason. My body demanding, his complying. 

When I finally let go his hands, he pushes himself into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around me, and burying his face between my breasts. He meets my thrusts hard, trying to make me cry out again, though we both know he's at my mercy and can't last much longer. 

His arms around me, hands tangled in the silken strands at the nape of my neck, he forces our movements to slow to a gentle rocking motion and closes his mouth on my breast once more. The milk rushes to my nipple again as he suckles, and the blood pounds in my loins. When my soft cries begin again, he speeds our motion. I try to move urgently against him, squeezing him tight inside me, but now it's his turn to hold me still and captive. 

It's only when he hears my whimper, feels my body convulsing against him and around him, that he lets himself go, riding the waves of my climax along with me, forehead pressed against my breasts, smelling milk and sweat and sex as his own moans mingle with my cries. 

When we are finally still, he collapses slowly back onto the bed, arms around me, pulling me close against his chest. 

"Lily -- Lily, I love you," he murmurs into my sweat-tangled hair. 

I place my hand against his chest, holding his pounding heart. "I love you, James." 

I'm still going to tell him. Really, I am. But after a moment, his breathing slows and becomes more regular, and I knows he's fallen asleep. The darkness steals over me, and soon I'm drifting off, too, glowing with tenderness, my love safe in my arms. 

* * *

I would have liked to see Sirius one more time, but I think it might be better to pretend to be sleeping when he arrives. There will be more time for what I need to do that way. So right after lunch, I tell James I feel tired, and that I'm going to take Harry for a lie-down in the bedroom. James smiles and promises not to disturb our rest, and kisses me lingeringly, memories of the previous night echoing between us. Then I take our cranky, red-faced son from his arms and go into the bedroom, closing the door behind us. 

For a moment, I pace, rocking and gently bouncing my baby, and singing to him under my breath until he begins to quiet down. And I listen. Despite his promise not to wake me, James might still come in at any moment, so I don't want to start until I'm sure he's busy with Sirius. I wait nearly half an hour, and my fraying patience is finally rewarded with a knock on the front door. 

As soon as I hear the door open -- hear James greeting the visitor -- I spring into action. Laying my dozing Harry against the pillows, I move about the room, placing a temporary silencing charm on the walls, before kneeling to draw a locked wooden chest from beneath the bed. 

" _Alohomora Liliae_ ," I whisper, tapping the lock with my wand -- a special lock, which only responds to my voice. 

The lid springs open. Inside the chest is a small, round mirror, a phial of coarse, black powder, and a tiny, wicked-looking silver blade. Strange how the strongest spells often employ the simplest tools. 

The mirror, especially, should be perfect for my purposes. It is an old object, picked up while antiquing with Remus. I could feel the power in it the moment I touched it. Not for the first time, I wonder who it belonged to, and how it came to be in a Muggle shop. 

My heart races. I don't have the Latin for what I want to do; I pray that the Powers I'm about to call upon will understand and accept plain English if it's respectfully spoken. 

Laying the objects out on the bed next to Harry, careful not to disturb his slumber, I undress. I kneel on the bed, wand raised, and take a deep breath. 

"Spirits of Light and Dark, I entreat Thee. Come to a mother's calling. Bestow a mother's blessing. Preserve the life of a child." 

My breasts begin to tingle, and I feel again the rush of milk to my nipples. As the warm liquid begins to drip down my belly, I hear a voice -- not in the room with me, but inside my head. It is one voice and many and sexless, and hearing it hurts like an immense pressure inside my skull. I bite my lip to keep from crying out. 

_WE ARE HERE. WHY DO YOU DISTURB US, MORTAL WOMAN?_

"Please," I say. "I need to save my child. I -- I think I know what to do, but I need you to guide me -- and to lend me some of your power." 

_MORTAL LIVES ARE NO CONCERN OF OURS,_ says the voice, scornfully. 

"Please," I beg. "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. If you only knew what a mother's love for a child means --" 

_WE KNOW SUCH LOVE HAS GREAT VALUE AMONG MORTALS,_ says the voice. 

There is a long pause. 

_VERY WELL. BUT YOU HAVE ASKED A GREAT THING, AND IT WILL COME AT A GREAT PRICE._

"Anything," I moan, clutching my aching head between my hands. "Anything, only tell me what I must do!" 

_POUR OUT THE POWDER OF SYMPATHY ONTO THE FACE OF THE MIRROR,_ the voice echoes inside my head. 

I take the glass stopper from the phial with trembling fingers, and pour the black powder onto the small, round mirror, distractedly noting that my reflection's nose is bleeding. The powder cost fifty galleons, and was purchased in Knockturn Alley. I use it all without reservation. 

Powder of Sympathy is a rare compound which has the strange property of being able to connect -- usually through blood -- the fate of an object with the fate of a living being. When applied to a mirror, the effect is slightly different: whatever happens to the mirror happens to the person reflected in it. 

_THE POWDER MUST BE ACTIVATED BY BLOOD,_ the voice continues, as the last grains have fall onto the mirror's surface. 

I nod, unable to speak. Tears of pain stream down my face. 

I raise the tiny, silver dagger, and prick my breast, just over my heart. A mother's blood. What substance on earth could hold more powerful protective magic? Leaning forward, I watch as the drops of blood mingle with my milk, and drip onto the mirror to mix with the powder. My tears fall into the mix as well. I hope they won't weaken the magic. 

_TAKE THE CHILD TO YOUR BREAST._

Carefully, I lift my sleeping son from the bed and cradle him in my arms. Harry's sleepy green eyes, so like my own, open, and he turns toward me for sustenance. His mouth clamps onto my nipple, and if he tastes the blood, he gives no sign of it. I suppose it won't hurt him. 

_CHOOSE THE SEAT OF THE SPELL, AND MARK HIM._

"Mark him?" I hiss between gritted teeth. "What do you mean?" 

_CUT HIM. HIS BLOOD IS REQUIRED. CHOOSE THE HOME OF THE PROTECTION, AND MARK HIM THERE._

Hesitantly, I shift Harry's position until I'm clutching his heavy, compact body clumsily with one arm. Once more, I take the knife in my trembling hand. Cut him? Intentionally hurt my baby? The thought is appalling. It's a long way from cutting myself to "marking" Harry's fair, unblemished skin. Reluctantly, I touch the point of the knife to his forehead and prick him. A single drop of blood wells up, and Harry opens his mouth and begins to wail. 

Throwing the knife away, I clutch my baby hard against my shoulder. "Oh, Sweetie! Oh, Love! Mummy didn't mean it! Mummy didn't want to hurt you!" 

Tears of guilt stream down my face. I glared around the room, as if trying to find the source of the voice inside my head. 

"There!" I declare defiantly. "Is that enough? Are you satisfied?" 

_IT IS ENOUGH,_ says the voice. _TAKE THE MIRROR AND LAY IT AGAINST THE SEAT OF THE SPELL._

Once again holding Harry with one arm, I pick up the mirror, trying to hold it level so that none of the sludgy liquid on its surface spills. I carefully rest it, face-up, against Harry's forehead. The cold of it startles him into silence, and his eyes fly open. 

I can see myself in the mirror's surface, looking very young and very frightened, wide green eyes staring into wide green eyes. And then, seemingly without transition, the eyes I'm looking into are not my own, but Harry's. The mirror is gone. 

Hands shaking, I lay my still-whimpering baby on the bed. Fumbling for a handkerchief, I dab at my nose and my front, wiping away the spilled milk and blood, both of which seem to have stopped flowing. 

When I go to wipe Harry's forehead as well, I can find no sign of the place where I marked him. 

I find up the knife beside the bed, and wipe the blade clean, returning it, the handkerchief, and the empty phial to the wooden chest. The lock clicks into place, hiding my secret darkness, and I slide it back into place under the bed, relieved. It's over now; Harry is safe. 

I'm just reaching for my dressing gown when the terrible voice sounds in my head again. 

_YOU HAVE HAD WHAT YOU WISHED OF US. NOW WE WILL TAKE OUR PRICE. A LIFE FOR A LIFE._

There's a sudden stabbing pain in my belly, as if my womb has been skewered. Gasping, I bend over double, clutching at my middle. The pain is constant, sharp and unending. It goes on and on. In a moment, I'll be torn in half. 

"My baby," I moan weakly, as blackness swirls around me. 

I can hear Harry screaming from a long way off. Unconsciousness takes me before my body hits the floor. 

* * *

I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling and trying not to cry again. In the days since I cast the protective charm, James has been the embodiment of care and concern. I haven't told him what happened -- I've said little and eaten less in the past four days -- but there was no hiding from him the fact that I had miscarried. 

James is devastated, of course, and his worry for my safety and Harry's seems to have increased tenfold. 

"I thought I could protect you both," he laments, time and again. "I've been so stupid." 

I have no reassurance to offer; my own grief is still too near. 

I know it's my own fault. I asked for something huge, and I accepted that there would be a price without asking what it was. At least Harry will be safe now. May he never know the price of his life. 

* * *

The sound of ceramic breaking wakes me from a light doze. I go to the top of the stairs, and see James standing frozen in the kitchen, staring at the door. A shattered teacup lies unnoticed on the floor at his feet. 

"James?" I call down to him. "James, what's wrong?" "Harry's in his room," he says without taking his eyes off the door. His voice sounds odd. "Go get him." 

Wand in hand, he edges over to the kitchen window, peering out into the darkness of the garden. 

"Is someone out there, James?" I ask, voice trembling. 

If there _is_ someone out there, something has gone very, very wrong. We should be safe, here in our home. No one should be able to threaten us here, especially not -- 

James gasps and throws himself against the door, pressing his back to the wood. "Lily, take Harry and go!" he yells. "It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off --" 

I feel the blood drain from my face. From the look of utter terror on James's face, "him" can mean only one person: Voldemort has come for us at last. 

Flying to Harry's room, I stumble over a litter of toys in the darkness. Harry is crying, awakened by his father's shout. 

An explosion knocks me off my feet. Wood splinters, and the room is lit with an eerie green for a split second. 

"James?" I call, pulling myself to my feet. "James? _James!_ " 

The only answer is a high-pitched cackle that chills me to my bones. 

I turn slowly, dreading what I'll see. Striding up the stairs is a tall figure in black robes. He looks at me with cold, dead eyes, wand upraised. I suddenly realise that I've left my own wand in the bedroom. 

Past the cloaked figure, at the foot of the stairs, I see a pair of legs, still against the floorboards. 

" _James!_ " 

A moan of despair wells up in my throat. There is nothing that I can do for him now. 

I drag my eyes away from the body of my husband, and back to the cold eyes of the man before me. I can still protect my baby, even if the last and only thing I have to put between him and that deadly wand is my own body. 

A cold smile uncurls itself on Voldemort's face, and he takes a step towards me. 

"Not Harry," I beg, arms spread to bar the nursery door. "Not Harry, please not Harry!" 

"Stand aside, you silly girl," he says, irritation evident in his voice. "Stand aside, now." 

I feel like I'm in a dream. The words make no sense to me. Voldemort has come to kill. There is no mercy in him. My husband is already dead. Why has he not killed me yet? All I know is that I have to protect Harry. 

"Not Harry!" I say, jaw clenched in defiance. "Not Harry! Please -- I'll do anything --" 

"Stand aside -- stand aside, girl!" He's looking at me with clear annoyance, as if a mother taking a final stand for her child's life is beyond his comprehension. 

"Not Harry! Please ... have mercy ... have mercy ..." I have no hope left, but I will plead with those merciless eyes to my last breath. 

Tiring of our standoff, he pushes me roughly out of the way. I grab hold of his arm, pulling him with all my strength away from the bed of my dear baby boy. 

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead --" 

He turns to me then, laughing the same cold, shrill laugh that marked the end of my husband's life. 

"I think not, girl," he says quietly. "There is no 'instead'." 

I never hear the words of the curse, but as the green light envelopes me, I have time for one last, hopeless thought. 

_Poor Remus. I guess it was Sirius after all._


	2. James's Secret

Once I think about it, it's obvious who it is -- who it _must_ be. Sirius, utterly loyal, my best friend and my son's godfather -- Remus, completely devoted to Sirius. No, it can't be either of them. Which only leaves Peter. 

At first, it didn't make sense to me. Peter's a coward, deep down. He was always clever and foolhardy enough to more or less fit in with the rest of us when we were at school, but the fact remains that Peter is drawn to people with power. He was originally drawn to me and Sirius because we were clever and people liked us. And he was obsessed with that Slytherin bitch, Madeleine Yaxley, for half our time at Hogwarts simply because she enjoyed keeping him in his place. 

Now that things have gotten too scary even for me -- not that I'd ever admit it out loud -- Peter's bound to be looking elsewhere for the security he craves. He's not blind or stupid; he knows as well as the rest of us that, for a long while now, the biggest, baddest bully in the schoolyard has been Voldemort. Is it really so strange to think that Peter might turn to him? 

On the rare occasions when we've seen him lately, he claims he's been busy caring for his mother, but I've known that old bat for years, and I know for a fact that she's never had a serious illness in her life. Besides that, Peter's been positively twitchy the last few times I've seen him. 

No, if it must be one of them, it must be him. But what can I do about it? I have to get him to show himself, but how? 

I don't want to tell the others my suspicions just yet. People may make a fuss about me being overconfident, but what they don't realise is that I'm confident because I have the sense to be cautious. I never say or do anything until I'm sure of how things stand. But my instincts for people's motives are usually good. If Peter's the one passing information to Voldemort, there has to be a way to prove it, or to get him to show his hand. 

I'm meeting Dumbledore later today. Maybe he'll give me an idea. 

* * *

"Thank you for coming to see me today, dear boy." Dumbledore shakes my hand warmly when I arrive in his office at Hogwarts, and invites me to sit down. There's none of the usual twinkling good-humour in his eyes; he's as grim as everyone else in the Wizarding world these days. 

His office looks much as it did during my school days -- which I suppose seems longer ago than it actually was -- the portraits of sleeping former Headmasters, bright-eyed Fawkes on his perch, the old Sorting Hat, the whirring, clicking instruments of which Dumbledore is so fond. Nothing offers any ready solution to my current problem. 

"Of course I came," I say, laying my old Invisibility Cloak over the arm of the chair. "It sounded like you might have some new information on who's been feeding our whereabouts to Voldemort?" 

"Sadly, nothing so helpful as that," Dumbledore says, shaking his head, "but I have a notion about how we might keep you and your family -- ah -- 'under the radar', I believe is the Muggle expression. At least until we know more about who has been informing on you." 

I sit forward eagerly. "How?" I'm hungry for anything that might Peter to reveal his intentions, but also for ways to protect Lily and Harry. 

"Have you ever heard of the Fidelius Charm?" 

I shake my head. 

"It is a way of hiding a person -- or, more to the point, a dwelling place -- and keeping it and the people who live there hidden indefinitely," Dumbledore explains. "It binds the secret of a location to the soul of a single individual, and no one but that person can find it or reveal it to anyone else." 

"What do I need to do?" I ask. 

Dumbledore gives me a grave look. "If you choose to use this charm, you must choose someone you trust absolutely to be your Secret-Keeper. Someone who will never reveal your location, no matter what methods of persuasion Voldemort and his followers may employ." 

I nod, the gears of my mind beginning to turn. Dumbledore's words have given me the seed of an idea. 

"I am willing to act as your Secret-Keeper myself, of course, if you wish it," Dumbledore continues. "But I have a feeling you will choose elsewhere." The ghost of the old twinkle is back in his eyes. "I've known you boys far too long to think otherwise." 

"Thank you, Headmaster, but you're right," I say. "I could never choose anyone but Sirius for something like this." 

"You still have absolute faith in him? You're certain he's not the one who --" 

"Yes," I reply firmly. "I would trust Sirius with my life, and with Lily's and Harry's as well." How could I not? He's _Sirius_. 

"Very well," the aged headmaster says at last. "If you are certain, then I will teach you the charm. But my offer stands. If you should change your mind once you've spoken with Lily about it, you have only to ask." 

"Thank you, Sir," I say, truly touched. "I'll bear that in mind." 

Dumbledore gives me the specifics of the Fidelius Charm before I go. By now, my mind is so completely devoted to formulating a plan, that I'm home before I realise I've left my cloak in Dumbledore's office. 

* * *

I spend the next few days working out the details of the plan. I've even talked it out with Harry. I enjoy telling him secrets, and treating him like one of the Marauders. It makes me sad to think I'll have to stop soon; once Harry starts to understand a bit more, there'll be danger he might repeat something in front of the wrong person -- namely, his mother. But for now, I'm glad to be able to confide to him what might just be my best plan ever. 

I told Lily about the Fidelius Charm as soon as I got back from Hogwarts, but I know I can't share the rest of it with her. She's terrified for Harry's safety, poor Love, and she's counting on me to do this right. She'd never agree to anything that might put Harry in any more danger than absolutely necessary. I'll just have to keep it to myself for a bit. 

They'll see soon enough. Peter's not stupid, and he's careful, but so long as he doesn't know I suspect him, I have the advantage. He'll never take me, if I'm prepared. 

It's a brilliantly simple plan, though I say it myself, but I want to be absolutely sure of everything before I commit to it. Making Peter our Secret-Keeper is risky, but I can handle him; he's always been hopeless at dueling. All I need is to get Peter to slip up publicly, and then I'll get Sirius to help me put another quick Fidelius Charm on the house. 

If I had told Dumbledore I was planning on choosing Peter, he would have insisted on doing the job himself. Better to have everyone think that Sirius is doing the honours. 

Sirius will cover for me if I give him a good enough reason, but he'll take some convincing. If he thinks I suspect Peter, he'll never agree to my plan. Sirius may be a natural risk-taker, but he'd never gamble on our lives -- especially Harry's. I'll tell him it's a double bluff -- simple misdirection; everyone will assume it's Sirius, and no one will even think of Peter. I'll tell him that makes the secret doubly safe. 

I try very hard not to think of what might happen if Voldemort's followers get hold of Sirius, especially if Sirius can't tell them what they want to know. I know Sirius would rather die than allow any harm to come to us, but I'd rather avoid that eventuality at all cost. Maybe I can talk him and Remus into going into hiding, too. 

The plan will work; I know it. It's a good plan, and if I keep my eyes open, there's very little risk. 

Resolved, I take a pinch of Floo Powder from the jar on the mantle, and throw it into the fire. 

"Sirius Black and Remus Lupin's flat," I say clearly, stepping into the green flames. 

* * *

Sirius is alone for once, which is lucky, all things considered. 

"Moony's out running errands. He's planning something special for our anniversary," he says with a weak attempt at a smile. "At least, I think he is." 

The flicker of doubt in his eyes is painful to see. Sirius loves Remus as much as I love Lily, and the suspicion and doubt that have arisen between them since we first began to suspect an informer is heartbreaking. I give his shoulder a comforting squeeze. 

"You don't really think it's him, do you, Padfoot?" I ask sympathetically. 

Sirius sighs, rubbing tired eyes. "I don't know what to think anymore, Prongs." His voice is flat, lifeless. "I go from being convinced it's not him to wondering if the only reason I _think_ it's not him is because I would die if it was." 

I want to offer a comforting hug, but I've been a bit reserved about things like that since we were sixteen and he and Remus started -- well. Not that I mind them being together; it just feels a bit awkward. 

I wish with all my heart that I could wipe away Sirius's doubts -- confide to him my suspicions about Peter -- but I can't if this plan is going to work. With any luck, we'll all know soon enough, and then my poor friends won't have to suffer those looks from one other anymore. 

"It'll be all right, Padfoot," I say instead. 

Sirius nods miserably. 

"Look, mate; Dumbledore's had this brilliant idea for keeping Lily and Harry and me safe for a bit, but we're going to need your help." 

* * *

Peter won't be able to resist an invitation, if I word it enticingly enough. _Please join us for supper on 26th October,_ it reads. _I need your help with something important._ He'll be there for sure. 

Because I've already confided my plan to Sirius -- well, part of it anyway -- I'll his help convince Peter. If Sirius suspected Peter as well, there's no way we'd be able to hide the fact through a whole evening; Peter would know something was up, just from our attitude. He's seen us hiding things together too many times. As long as I keep my suspicions to myself, he'll never know. 

When he shows up on our doorstep on the night, I heartily shake his hand and clap him on the shoulder, grinning and saying, "Good to see you, Wormtail, old man! It's been a while!" 

"Well, you know Mother's been ill." 

He can't even meet my eyes, the lying sod, but I pretend as always to believe him, offering wishes of good health to dear old Mrs Pettigrew, though I can barely stand the woman. I consider saying that I really should drop by and see her sometime -- pay my respects in person -- but I think it's best for now to let Peter feel as safe as possible with me. 

"We'll talk after supper," I say, giving him a wink. "And -- er -- don't say anything to Lily, please." 

He gives me a good attempt at a knowing smile. 

All through that tense and near-silent meal, I can't help casting glances over the assembled company. I'm troubled by the covertly narrowed eyes, the speculative glances, the ill-concealed suspicions that pass between Sirius and Remus. Every now and then, I let my eyes settle on Peter, staring at his plate, eating methodically as he always does. 

I wonder what he's thinking -- what he'll think when I seemingly offer up myself and Lily on a proverbial silver platter. I wonder how quickly he'll act? I'll be ready when he does. 

Having them all there for supper always reminds me of our school days, back when we used to eat almost every meal together -- except when we were quarreling, or someone had detention -- at the far end of the Gryffindor table, near the doors to the Great Hall -- how we always laughed and joked, and rarely took anything as seriously as we should have. 

_"Snivellus has been sticking his unusually large nose where it's not wanted again," I said. "Namely, in the region of a certain occasionally violent tree."_

_"_ Again?! _" cried Peter, outraged. "Are you fucking serious, Prongs?"_

_"No," I grinned. "That's Moony's job."_

_Remus blushed into his pumpkin juice. "Hush! Do you want the whole school to hear?"_

_"That you're the best shag going?" Sirius grinned wickedly. "If you've got it, flaunt it, Moony!"_

_"Besides," I went on, raising my voice slightly, "I'm saving myself for Evans."_

_I leered down the table at the green-eyed redhead, who only rolled her eyes at me._

The memory makes me smile, but it fades quickly. 

Lily's been giving me trusting looks all through supper, and that troubles me more than anything. She might not trust me so much if she knew what I'm planning. I guiltily squeeze her hand, trying to offer her a reassuring smile. I'll probably get to see a bit of that infamous Evans fire, and end up sleeping on the sofa for a month if she finds out. 

But the moment when I feel the most guilt comes between supper and pudding. In a fit of recklessness, I decide to try and draw Peter out -- to get some clue what he's thinking. 

"Sure, I could take Voldemort in a duel," I say, grinning. Even I almost wince at the arrogance of my tone. "It's just all those minions and people under the Imperius Curse that get in the way. If someone would just take him out, the whole Death Eater thing would collapse. Wait and see." 

Peter's brows draw together, but Lily's voice distracts me. 

"Your overconfidence will be the death of us all, James," she says with a quavering smile, covering my hand with hers. 

Everyone looks uncomfortable, and I'm assailed with sudden doubts. Can I really be doing this? It's dangerous. Isn't that the real reason why I haven't told Sirius or Lily? Because they'd try to talk me out of it? I consider taking Sirius aside after supper and telling him the plan is off -- that I want him to be our Secret-Keeper after all. 

But old habits die hard. Never change plans suddenly; never go through with a plan that hasn't been thought out. I've spent a lot of time on this plan, and though I know it's dangerous -- even foolhardy -- I think I'm equal to it. Sirius being our Secret-Keeper seems sound enough on the face of it, I haven't had time to consider it properly, so it goes against my nature to implement it. I'll stick to the plan. It'll work. 

I cast a last guilty look at Lily, and begin clearing the table. As Remus leans to speak to Lily, I catch Sirius and Peter's eyes and give them a meaningful look, gesturing toward the kitchen. Lily catches the look I give Sirius as she hands Harry over to Remus. She knows we're meant to be making the final Fidelius Charm arrangements tonight, and she tries to divert Peter into the sitting room. I raise my eyebrows urgently at him. 

_Say something,_ I think at him fiercely. _You're supposed to be the master of deceit here, not me. Talk her out of it._

Peter smoothly steps in and takes Lily's hands in his. "That was a lovely supper," he says sincerely, turning his not-inconsiderable charm on her. "You must have been on your feet all day at it. Why don't you go take a rest? I'm sure I can keep myself company until Prongs and Padfoot feel like being social again." 

Lily flashes us both a grateful smile and disappears into the bedroom. As soon as the door closes behind her, Peter joins us in the kitchen. 

"What's up, lads?" he asks, his face betraying nothing more than simple curiosity. 

"Dumbledore's come up with an idea to keep me and Lily and Harry hidden for a bit," I begin, flashing him a grin. "It's this thing called the Fidelius Charm, and it basically hides the whole house so that, even if Voldemort were standing in the garden --" Peter winces at the name "-- he wouldn't be able to see it." 

"How does it work?" Peter asks, frowning. I can tell by his posture, if not by his face, that he is hanging on every word, trying commit every nuance of my plan to memory. Peter's never had a great memory. 

_I'll make it easy for you, mate,_ I think. 

"Well, Wormtail, old friend, that's where you come in. See, we need to bind the secret of our location to someone who doesn't live here -- someone we can trust. They'll be the only person who can find us, or who can tell other people where we are. Of course, all the other protective wards will have to come off the house, since they might interfere with the effectiveness of the charm." 

I note with satisfaction that Peter's eyes widen imperceptibly. I can see the wheels beginning to turn in his mind. The calculating look is quickly hidden. 

"See," Sirius says eagerly, "with a spell like that, anyone who knows Prongs would assume I was the one holding the secret." 

"But you won't be?" Peter asks, sitting forward. His ears and the tip of his nose are turning pink with suppressed excitement, making him look even more rat-like than usual. 

"No. That's the beauty of Prongs's plan. Everyone will think it's me, and I'll even tell them I am, if they ask. But it won't be me." He gives Peter a doggy grin. "It'll be you." 

"And no one will know it but myself and Padfoot," I add, just to be sure he hasn't missed the point. 

"What?" he says, surprised. "Not Dumbledore or anyone?" 

"Not even Lily or Moony," I assure him. 

It's perfect. The fewer people who know, the more likely he is to think he's safe. Peter won't like killing much; he's too squeamish. The fewer people he thinks might find him out, the better he'll like it. 

"Okay," he agrees slowly. "What do I have to do?" 

"Just meet me here tomorrow after lunch," I tell him. "Lily's usually napping with Harry about then." 

Peter grins. "This is going to be great!" he says, shaking my hand. "Thanks so much for trusting me with this. I won't let you down." 

He's lying through his fucking rat teeth as if we were Filch and his fucking cat. I return the smile. 

Then Lily comes back, and the conversation is cut short. Remus returns from the garden with Harry, looking utterly miserable. I feel terrible for him. Remus is a sensitive sort -- always has been -- and this whole ordeal has been almost harder on him than on the rest of us. 

_Just a little longer, mate,_ I want to say. _Everything will be all right._

Instead, I take Harry from him and say, "Thank you, Remus," using his name for once. "Thank you for everything." 

Within minutes, they're gone, drifting away into the night. Now we're alone. 

* * *

It goes off like clockwork. Lily goes down for a nap right on schedule the following day, and within half an hour, Peter's there, eager to get started. 

The charm is simple enough. All Peter really has to do is look at the house, point his wand and say, " _Semper fidelius maneo_ ," but he's nervous, and keeps forgetting the words. I get him a beer and tell him to relax. 

We sit in the garden for a bit, and I tell him again how glad I am to have a friend like him, whom I know I can trust not only with my own life, but also with the lives of my wife and child. I want the bastard to feel as guilty as possible when he does what he's going to do. He merely nods and stares off into the distance. 

Finally, he says he's ready to try the spell again. I tell him the words one more time, and this time he manages to get them right. The house shimmers for a moment, but nothing else changes from my view, or from Peter's. 

I shake his hand and thank him profusely. 

"No trouble, mate," he mumbles, not meeting my eyes. 

As he gets on his broom and heads off, I point my wand after him. 

" _Suspicius_ ," I whisper, sending a paranoia hex after my erstwhile friend. "A little 'fuck you' from me to you, Wormtail, old man." 

* * *

I've just closed the door behind me when I realise I can hear Harry wailing desperately, but I can't hear Lily's voice at all. Normally, when the baby carries on at that pitch, Lily is right there, soothing and asking him what's wrong, as if he could explain it to her. 

Going upstairs to the bedroom, I knock tentatively. "Lily? Lils, is everything all right?" 

There's no response. I try the doorknob, but it's locked. What the hell? My heart begins to race. Something is very wrong. Where's my fucking wand? I pat my pockets in growing panic. By the door, I suddenly remember. 

Every second of not knowing what's happening on the other side of that door is agony. I have to protect Lily and Harry. What if something's happened to them? My guilt adds to the urgency of my thoughts. It only takes ten second to retrieve my wand and force my way into the room, but that's ten seconds too long for me. 

The scene in the bedroom makes the blood freeze in my veins. Harry is sitting on the bed, red-faced and screaming, and Lily lies unmoving on the floor. 

" _Lily!_ " I fall to my knees beside her, searching frantically for a pulse. I force myself to pause long enough to find one, weak and fluttering at her throat. "Oh, God! Lily, wake up!" 

She's hurt. There's blood on her. Where is it coming from? In a panic, I run my hands over her body, searching for the source. Then I see. 

The blood is dark, smeared and dripping all down my wife's thighs. 

At first I don't understand. Her time of the month should be -- and then cold realisation hits me -- should have been more than two weeks and more ago. Only it wasn't. And in my stupid preoccupation with everything else that's going on, I didn't notice. She knew, though. She _had_ to know. She didn't tell me. 

Numbly, I gather her unconscious body into my arms. God, she's so cold. I pick her up and lay her in the bed, getting in beside her and drawing the blankets up over us both. I barely notice that Harry has worked himself into a fever pitch. 

I hold my wife close, terrified, unsure what I should do. I should take her to St Mungo's, I know, but the Fidelius Charm is in place now, and I don't actually know if it will hold if all the residents are out of the house at the same time. Murmuring soothing words, I beg her to wake up. I keep checking her pulse, fearful that she might slip away from me. 

At last, her eyelids flutter. I sit up, gazing at her, stroking her hair back from her face. 

"Lily?" 

"I don't feel well, James," she says groggily. 

She doesn't know what's happened, I realised. I have to tell her. Merlin, what can I say? 

"Lily," I begin gently, but there is no way to say it that isn't blunt, harsh and cruel. "Lily, you've had a miscarriage. You lost a baby." My voice breaks. I can feel hot tears pricking my eyelids. 

Her eyes lose focus for a moment, then she turns her face away. "I know," she says softly. "I'm sorry, James." 

" _Sorry?!_ Oh my God, Lily, it's not your fault!" I choke out, tears flowing faster now. I feel cold and lost and far too young for all this. I bury my face against her shoulder. 

Then I feel her cool, pale arms around me, as she rocks and cradles me, but no tears fall from her eyes. 

"I'm sorry," she says again. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. You had a right to know." 

"No," I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, voice still muffled against her shoulder. "No, I should have known. I should have noticed. I've just been so busy -- too busy -- trying to protect you and Harry." 

So much guilt! I raise my head and dash the tears from my eyes with my fist. "But now I see," I say, voice shaking. "I thought I could protect you both. I've been so stupid. I'm not strong enough." 

She takes my face between her hands, turning me so I'm looking directly into her pain-filled green eyes. "You're strong, James. And so am I. We can still win." 

I nod dumbly, but I have a sick feeling in my stomach that it's already too late. That we're dead, and it's all my fault. 

* * *

Impending doom is one of the least-pleasant sensations one can experience, and it's a feeling that increases in me over the following days. Lily is listless and unresponsive, which is understandable, but makes me feel even more guilty and alone. She's not feverish, thank God, but she sleeps a lot, and eats and speaks very little. I might as well be alone in the house, but for Harry. 

Halloween has always been a favourite holiday for the Marauders, and I want to dress Harry up to lighten the mood. Lily doesn't say a word when I transfigure Harry's best baby robes into a miniature Quidditch costume, and when I place the tiny Gryffindor player in her arms, she merely looks at him blankly, then holds him against her shoulder, mumbling nonsense to him. 

At one point, I overhear her telling Harry what a good big brother he would have been, and I nearly break down again. I've been trying hard to hold myself together since the miscarriage, and I've not cried once since that day, but there have been a couple of near misses. I wish I could put it out of my mind, but the fact of it seems inextricably linked to my growing feelings of guilt and unease. 

I thought I was doing the right thing, making Peter our Secret-Keeper, but four days after casting the Fidelius Charm, he still hasn't made his move, and I'm becoming very edgy. I glance out the window every few minutes, but the spell is firmly in place, and no one so much as glances at the house. 

Sunset arrives, and I watch the Muggle and wizard children going by in their costumes, collecting sweets door to door. Usually, on this night, Sirius and Remus and Lily and I would take turns answering the door and handing out sweets. We always keep separate bowls of Muggle and wizarding sweets, and Lily and Remus are very responsible about seeing that the right families get the right treats. Sirius and I mostly get it right as well, but every now and then, it can be fun to slip a Fizzing Whizbee to an unsuspecting Muggle child. 

The silence in the house feels spooky and somehow oppressive. As the night wears on and the hour grows late, fewer and fewer children wander by with torches or glowing wands. The night is cloudy, and I can't see the moon or the stars, which lends to the overall spooky atmosphere. 

I shiver, hoping my paranoia hex is giving Peter at least as bad a time as I'm having. Something has to happen, and soon, or I think I shall go mad. 

I suddenly realise I've been sitting here for nearly four hours, just staring out the window. It's nearly ten o'clock, and there is a tiny Quidditch champion asleep on my lap, drooling on my shirt. Sighing, I get up and go to put Harry in his cot. 

I'm too edgy for sleep. Instead, I go to the bedroom and tell Lily I'm going to make some tea. I ask her if she wants anything, but she just shakes her head. I'll make her some anyway. It can't hurt. 

Going down to the kitchen, I tap the kettle with my wand. While I wait for it to whistle, I get out the mugs. Into Lily's, I put a spoonful of strengthening Honeymarrow tea leaves -- a gift from Remus, who prefers that particular brew. 

The kettle whistles merrily -- a familiar wizarding tune, "The Witch Who Charmed My Heart" -- but as I lift the kettle and the tune fades, I hear a faint sound from the garden. 

I freeze, every muscle tense. There it is again. Footsteps where there should be none. They pause. I don't move or breathe. Then comes the scratching sound of a wand tapping the wood of the door.


	3. Peter's Secret

I'm in over my head, and I know it. I tell myself there must be a way out at least a dozen times a day. There _must_ be. But I'm either too thick or just too damned scared to come up with anything that might work. I seem to be well and truly stuck. 

I don't expect you to like me, or even feel sorry for me; I'm not that thick. But at least give me a chance to explain how it all came about. I honestly didn't mean for things to go like they have. 

It's all Madeleine Yaxley's fault, really. I was less than subtle about my obsession with her during our school years, and she easily turned that to her advantage. The woman was a natural, even at the age of sixteen, at using sex to get people -- well, me, anyway -- to do what she wanted. And I suspect from the poisonous looks I got from a number of other students while in her company that I wasn't the only one. 

Tears, too. And that was my undoing. I might have escaped her thrall at the end of our school years, when I didn't see her every day anymore. But one day, more than a year later, I come home to find her drinking tea with my mother. 

"Peter!" she cries, rising to embrace me with a smile that, if you don't know her, you might be forgiven for thinking it genuine. "It's been far too long, Darling!" She kisses me on both cheeks. 

Mother looks pleased. And why not? A pretty, pure-blood girl calling her only son "Darling"? Unheard of. 

Maddy takes my arm and steers me out into the garden for a private chat. She turns on all her charm, claims she misses me, and isn't it sad that we've drifted apart since school finished, and wouldn't it be nice to have things be like old times again? She smiles prettily and offers chaste kisses and rests her hand oh-so-casually on my knee. 

I try to be strong, really I do, but then come the waterworks. She's fallen in with a bad lot, she tells me, and they're meeting tonight, and there's no way she can get out of going. She'll feel so much safer, she says, if only I'll come along with her. Then, at least, she'll know she has one good and true friend by her side. 

I still almost say no, but she throws her arms around me and sobs against my chest. 

"Oh, Peter!" she wails. "I'm so _scared_!" 

And so I go with her. It's amazing how fast everything goes downhill after that. I know a number of the people at the gathering. Mostly people from school who made me very nervous, and quite a few of the same people who gave me dirty looks when I was with Maddy then. 

Maddy herself, once we arrive, seems anything but scared, and so far as having me by her side goes, she abandons me within minutes. It's an amazingly short step from being alone among Death Eaters to becoming one of them. 

In the weeks that follow the meeting, a number of people drop by to "chat". Offers are made, both enticements and threats. Maddy even takes me to her bed again, and gives me a night I'm unlikely ever to forget. In short, it's not long before I'm too inextricably entangled in the whole business to escape. Not my fault. Not really. 

At first, it isn't so bad. Almost a year goes by, and I'm required to do nothing more than attend a meeting here and there, report my own activities, and do nothing to oppose the movements of the Dark Lord's leading operatives. 

But regardless of what you may think, I'm not thick, and I gradually begin to realise that they aren't as interested in my movements as in the movements of my friends, James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and soon, Lily Evans, too. All of them are intelligent, talented, and well-placed young wizards, and most importantly, they're all friends with Albus Dumbledore. 

Around the time James and Lily are married, I begin avoiding spending time with my old friends. The less I know, the less I'm able to report. 

I know the Death Eaters are becoming frustrated with me. I'm not very good at evading questions, and I'm awkward about changing the subject. It isn't too surprising, really, when Maddy begins regularly spending the night at my flat. We've been sleeping together off and on for a while, but now she's with me as many as three nights a week. 

She asks questions. Subtly at first, distracting me with touches and kisses and other things that she's really very good at, as she asks me what I've been up to, and how my friends are, and have I heard anything from good old Hogwarts lately? But the more I evade, the more pointed her questions become, and the less she's inclined to distract me while asking. 

Then, not long before James and Lily's son is born, they narrowly escape a Death Eater attack, instigated, I suspect, based on information I provided, though I hadn't thought it significant at the time. My guilt begins to overwhelm me. My friends are capable of holding their own against anything that might be thrown their way, but now there's an innocent child in the mix. That's when I resolve to get myself out of the mess I'm in. 

"What is it he wants from me, Maddy? Why does he send you here?" I finally ask one night. 

At first, she tries to soothe me, pretending she doesn't know what I mean, that she's there because she wants to be. She acts hurt that I'd question her motives. 

But I press her until finally she bursts out, "It's not _you_ he wants; it's that precious friend of yours. That James Potter and his wife." 

"What? James and Lily? But they'd never go over to the Dark Lord." 

"Look," she spits at me, "he doesn't tell me everything. 'Ask about the Potters,' he says. 'Find out everything you can.' Don't ask _me_ what he's looking for." 

"Maddy," I say quietly, putting a hand on her arm. She flinches, and I sigh and withdraw the offending hand. "Maddy, I think you'd better go. I may be mixed up in all this, but James and Lily are my friends, and I won't tell you another word about them." See? I _do_ stand by my friends. 

She leaps from the bed and turns on me, beautiful, naked, with poison-green eyes flashing fire. 

"You think you can just do that?!" she cries. "You think you can just decide which information you pass on to the Dark Lord and which you don't? Well, Peter-my-love --" and here her mouth curves into a nasty smile, "-- you are in for one hell of a shock." 

"Just go, Maddy," I say, not meeting her eyes. I don't want her to see how scared I really am. 

"He'll get what he wants from you," she says, her voice sinking to a hiss. "You're only alive as long as you're of some use to him. You give him what he wants, and you'll live -- maybe even prosper." She looks down her long nose at me at me, as though she doubts it. "But you defy him in even the smallest way, and you'll end up dead along with those precious friends of yours, and I guarantee it won't be an easy death." 

She grabs her wand from the bedside table. " _Accio vestimenti_!" she cries, holding her graceful arms aloft like a dancer. Her robes fly from the floor to settle over her pale skin. 

That's probably the last time I'll ever see _that_. I feel a twinge of regret as she flounces from the room. 

In the months that follow Maddy's departure from my life, the pressure on me gradually increases, and the tone of the questions being asked becomes more and more threatening. Where are the Potters? What are they up to? When did I last see them? Do they suspect me at all? What have I heard of Dumbledore and the Order's latest activities? 

I'm too scared to refuse to answer, and my vague and evasive replies satisfy no one. I cut off almost all contact with James and Lily and my other friends, but there's so much pressure for me to spend time with them. Besides which, I'm worried that my flimsy excuses aren't convincing my friends anymore either. 

I consider going into hiding. I could turn rat and disappear until this whole war is over. No one would be able to find me. That's the last card I have to play against the Death Eaters. They don't know about my Animagus ability. 

But that's no way to live. I can't live the rest of my life as a rat. Better than death, I suppose, but not by much. I'll only resort to that if I can't find any other way to get myself free of this tangle. There _has_ to be another way out. 

* * *

As soon as I open the door to Mother's house, I know something's wrong. The air is almost vibrating with power. Mother, looking pale, frightened, and very, very small, is standing in the hallway, clutching the edge of a decorative table. 

"Peter," she whispers, eyes huge, "there's someone here to see you." 

Her eyes travel almost unwillingly to the parlour doorway. I go to her and put an arm around her shoulders to steady her, looking beyond her into the room. 

Standing among the shelves of knickknacks and delicate tea services is a tall, middle-aged man in black robes. He is examining a shelf of collectible figurines of Famous Wizards of the Nineteenth Century, but when I enter, he straightens, fixing me with cold, red eyes. The commanding gaze washes over me like a bucket of ice water, and seems to pierce my soul. Those eyes make Maddy's look positively warm and inviting. I suppress a shiver. 

"Peter Pettigrew," the man says softly, and the shiver I was trying to suppress escapes and runs down my spine. "I thought it time we met in person." 

Dragon shit! It's _him_! I feel faint. Being bullied by Death Eaters is one thing, but to have the Dark Lord arrive unexpectedly in one's sitting room is something else entirely. 

"Leave us, woman," he says, not sparing so much as a glance for Mother. 

I hear her footsteps scurry down the hallway, and I'm alone with the most feared wizard in the world. 

"Peter," the voice is accompanied this time by a chilly smile. "Let us speak frankly." 

I nod wordlessly. 

"I can crush you like the insect that you are," the man tells me. "And I will, if I think you might possibly be -- how shall I say? -- not working for me as _enthusiastically_ as you might." 

_I'm not an insect, I'm a rat,_ I think, but quickly suppress the thought, in case he tries to read my mind. 

"You are a worthless little man, Peter," the Dark Lord says. "Worthless, but for one very important factor: you and you alone among my followers can give me the Potters. And that is what you will do." 

I open my mouth, but no sound emerges. I clear my throat. "How can I? My Lord?" I add hastily, my voice unusually high. "Surely you already know where they are? You don't need _my_ help." 

"Ah, but Peter, least of my servants," he says sadly, shaking his head, "the Potters have so many inconvenient protective wards on their home. My followers and I cannot get near it without tripping all manner of alarm spells. By the time we were near enough to discuss matters with your friends, they would already have left, or invited unwelcome outsides to our meeting." He smiles nastily. "That is what I need you for, Peter. You are going to arrange a private meeting between myself and the Potter family. No unexpected guests." 

"But my Lord," I plead, falling to my knees, "the Potters are my friends. How can you ask this of me?" See? I'm still trying! And with the Dark Lord himself! 

"I could be your friend, Peter," the Dark Lord says, and I feel chilly fingers sliding through my hair. "I could be a great friend to you, if you only do this small thing for me." He sighs and turns away. "But if you defy me, well, I will not say that it will be the last thing you ever do. The last thing you shall ever do, should you defy me, is spend hours -- perhaps even days -- in friendless, screaming agony. After I kill everyone you care for." 

"My Lord!" I cry out in anguish, but when I look up, I'm alone in the room. 

* * *

I have to talk to James. That's just all there is to it. In fact, I'm surprised that James hasn't already confronted me. I know that Remus and Sirius are so wrapped up in suspecting one another that they barely notice anyone else, but surely James must have figured it out by now. I'll just have to come clean and beg his forgiveness. He'll be angry, of course, and I know Sirius'll be livid, but they won't let me come to any harm. When they know how sorry I am, they'll protect me. 

If anyone can get me out of this jam I'm in, it's James. I've had complete confidence in him since our schooldays. I know he's scared right now, but I still think he's equal to anything. He has a sort of sheen of immortality to him. 

So when the invitation -- _Please join us for supper on 26th October. I need your help with something important_ \-- arrives by owl only a few days after I come to my decision, I'm inclined to regard it as a sign. I'll go to James and Lily's house, I'll confess, James will yell and wave his arms around, but ultimately forgive me, and then I'll do whatever I can to make up for everything I've done. It will be all right. 

I arrive on their doorstep nervous and sweating, but more or less resolved in what I must do. James opens the door with a grin that warms my heart and makes my jumpy insides relax a little. That grin always bolstered my confidence in our schooldays. 

"Good to see you, Wormtail, old man! It's been a while," he declares heartily. 

I open my mouth. And that, as always, is where my confidence fails me. "Well, you know Mother's been ill," I say, not quite able to meet his eyes. Dammit, why can I not just tell him? Bloody get it over with. "I've just been so busy lately. I suppose it's all part of growing up and getting older, eh?" I manage a weak smile. 

"I'm sorry to hear your mother is still feeling poorly, mate," James says, eyebrows drawn together. "Getting better, though, I hope? Do give her my regards." 

I know James doesn't care a bit for my mother, but I do think it's very kind of him to ask after her health, and say so. 

"She's, ah, no better," I lie, internally cursing myself once again. But I'm just waiting for the right moment, aren't I? And this isn't it. 

As if in answer to my thought, James lowers his voice, flicking his eyes quickly toward the kitchen. "We'll talk after supper," he says with a wink. "And -- er -- don't say anything to Lily, please." 

I raise my eyebrows at that. Good. It will be better if I can talk to him privately. 

"Mum's the word," I murmur. 

I wander through the house behind James, commenting on how much I like what they've done with the place. I haven't been to visit them here more than two or three times since they moved in shortly before the baby was born. It's a cozy little place, just the right size for a small family. 

Sirius is in the sitting room, playing with the baby on the floor. He barely looks up when James and I put our heads in. Remus is in the dining room helping Lily set the table. He looks tired and drawn -- gray around the edges -- but greets me warmly enough. 

I help them finish laying the table, enjoying the bustling, friendly feel of the kitchen, and the warm food smells wafting through the air, despite the palpable tension. I'm nervous about what I have to do, though, and try hard not to jump at every sound of crockery knocking against crockery, or clatter of silverware on the table. 

Supper is marvelous, as always. Lily is a wonderful cook, and always goes the extra mile for guests, even when the guests are practically family. I can see, though, that the others barely notice their food. The lines of tension in the room might as well be drawn in fire. Remus and Sirius cast suspicious glances whenever one thinks the other isn't looking. Lily orbits James, and their eyes flicker from one guest to the next. 

How hard it must be for them all to sit there and wonder and worry and suspect one another. At least I _know_ I'm the one. How funny that I'm the only one who knows he can trust everyone here. Well, almost funny. I spend the meal staring resolutely at my plate, not meeting any of the questing, questioning gazes. 

Conversation seems to stop and start, rather than flow as it did in the old days. But I don't become engaged in it until Sirius says, "C'mon, Prongs; you don't really believe you could take Voldemort, do you? I mean," he smirks, "I know you're convinced of your own immortality, but really --" 

"Sure, I could take Voldemort in a duel," James says with a lazy smile. "It's just all those minions and people under the Imperius Curse that get in the way," he continues, eyes meeting mine. "If someone would just take him out, the whole Death Eater thing would collapse. Wait and see." 

Does he suspect me after all? No surprise if he does, I suppose. Everyone is looking at James, and James is looking at me. I feel like he's waiting for me to say something, but I have nothing to say. Or nothing I can say right here in front of all of them. Later. I'll take him aside after supper, and tell him then. 

Lily saves me from having to say anything just then, for which I'm profoundly grateful. 

"Your overconfidence will be the death of us all, James." 

She smiles a little sadly and puts a hand on her husband's arm. James looks abashed and lowers his eyes to the table. No one seems able to look at anyone else for a moment, and the silence is an awkward one. 

James gets up and begins clearing the table, rattling the dishes more than strictly necessary to cover the silence. Then Remus turns to speak to Lily, and the moment passes. James glances at his wife, and, seeing that she's momentarily distracted, catches my eye and raises his eyebrows, inclining his head towards the kitchen. Then he glances at Sirius and repeats the gesture. 

Lily looks up as she passes the baby to Remus, who says he's just going outside to take some air. She catches the look between her husband and Sirius, and must divine some meaning from it, for she stands up and smiles at me, inviting me to come have a cup of tea with her in the sitting room. 

Don't say anything to Lily, eh? There's more to this than meets the eye. Obviously, Lily knows something about a private conversation with Sirius, but there's more to it that James doesn't want her to know -- or know yet -- that involves me. My curiosity is piqued. 

James is flashing me impatient looks, which I recognise from our schooldays to mean, "Get her out of here". I smoothly step in and turn on the charm that nearly always distracted professors from noticing what James and Sirius were up to. Teachers almost never thought to suspect innocent little Peter Pettigrew of mischief, even knowing who my friends were, and we frequently turned this fact to our advantage. 

"That was a lovely supper," I tell Lily sincerely, taking her hands in mine. "You must have been on your feet all day at it. Why don't you go take a rest? I'm sure I can keep myself company until Prongs and Padfoot feel like being social again." 

I make as if to remove myself to the sitting room, as Lily smiles gratefully and disappears up the stairs. As soon as I hear the door close behind her, I return to the kitchen. 

"What's up, lads?" 

James smiles and flops into a chair, disarrayed hair falling into his eyes. "Dumbledore's come up with an idea to keep me and Lily and Harry hidden for a bit," he says. He and Sirius are wearing matching grins. "It's this thing called the Fidelius Charm, and it basically hides the whole house so that, even if Voldemort were standing in the garden, he wouldn't be able to see it." 

I wince at the mention of the Dark Lord's name. Ever since the man himself appeared in Mother's parlour, I've been unable to even think his name without a chill descending my spine. 

"How does it work?" I ask to distract myself from thinking of that awful presence. If James has a way to hide himself, then there's no way I can be blamed for not being able to deliver him and Lily to -- _him_. 

"Well, Wormtail, old friend," James continues, "that's where you come in. See, we need to bind the secret of our location to someone who doesn't live here -- someone we can trust. They'll be the only person who can find us, or who can tell other people where we are. Of course, all the other protective wards will have to come off the house, since they might interfere with the effectiveness of the charm." 

My eyes widen. If James is saying what I think he's saying -- that he wants me to be the one -- then he _can't_ suspect me! I'm overwhelmed at my friend's confidence in me, but quickly suppress the emotion. I begin devise the outline of a plan. 

"See," Sirius is saying, gesturing wildly in his excitement, "with a spell like that, anyone who knows Prongs would assume I was the one holding the secret." 

Very true. "But you won't be?" I sit forward in my chair, mind turning and turning through the implications of James's plan. 

"No," Sirius says, too enthused to sit still. "That's the beauty of Prongs's plan. Everyone will think it's me, and I'll even tell them I am, if they ask. But it won't be me," he says with a grin. "It'll be you." 

If I'm the one, then this might be the answer to all my problems. Vol -- the Dark Lord wants me to set up a situation where it's just him and James and Lily. This charm sounds like just the thing. The wards will be off the house, and they won't be able to summon anyone else. James thinks he can take the Dark Lord easily, and once he's out of the way, the whole Death Eater network will collapse. 

"And no one will know it but myself and Padfoot," James adds. 

"What?" I'm startled out of my reverie. "Not Dumbledore or anyone?" 

"Not even Lily or Moony," James says, raising his eyebrows. 

I nod, still deep in thought. If I set this up right, and the Dark Lord falls, I could be a hero. I could bring about an end to the war. How can I pass up an opportunity like that? But I can't confess now -- James will never let me do this if he knows I'm the one the Death Eaters are using. I'll just have to wait and tell him everything when it's all over. He'll believe me; I'm sure of it. 

"Okay. What do I have to do?" I ask. 

"Just meet me here tomorrow after lunch," James tells me. "Lily's usually napping with Harry about then." 

I grin with relief. "This is going to be great!" I say, shaking James's hand. "Thanks so much for trusting me with this. I won't let you down." 

James is going to be so impressed when I tell him how I planned it all. And the Ministry, too. Order of Merlin, First Class, I'll wager. 

Our discussion of the Fidelius Charm is interrupted by the sound of a door opening somewhere in the house, and James lays a conspiratorial finger to his lips as a sleepy-looking Lily reenters the kitchen. 

Sirius, Remus and I leave the house not long after. I really wish I could tell someone about my plan, but I know that, if I do, it'll never work. Even if James and Sirius would still allow me to be the Secret-Keeper, telling them would jinx it somehow, and something would go wrong. So instead of saying anything, I quickly arrange a "just in case" meeting with Sirius, bid them all farewell, and head off into the night. 

* * *

My palms are sweating as I knock on James and Lily's door the next afternoon, and I fiddle nervously with my wand as I wait for James to open the door. He greets me quietly, but with a smile. Lily has, as expected, gone down for a nap about half an hour before, and we should have maybe an hour to work the charm and have me gone before she wakes. 

The words of the charm are simple enough, but I just can't seem to make them come out right. It's nerves, is all. That was always my problem at school as well. My marks were never very good, not because I wasn't clever or didn't know the material, but because I lack confidence, and don't perform well under pressure. And the pressure for this plan to come off right is immense. 

But James never seems to get frustrated with me. He's always been great that way. After the first few attempts fail, he tells me to sit down and relax, and goes into the house to get me a drink. Good old Prongs. Always so good to his friends, even during hard times. 

James returns with a beer for each of us, and sits with me for a while, telling me how glad he is to have a friend like me, whom he can trust with the lives of his family, and with something as important as this charm. 

I don't deserve any of it, and I know it. Someone like me doesn't deserve a friend like James. But I'll make it up to him. Really, I will. Together, we'll bring down the Dark Bastard, and the world will be a better place. Our names will go down in history. We'll be heroes. 

But for now, there isn't really anything I can say, so I merely nod, staring off into the future, imagining what it will be like when every child in the Wizarding world knows our names. 

"I think I'm ready now," I finally say, draining the last of my beer. 

I stand, gripping my wand and eyeing the house as if it might do something unexpected. 

"Right," says James. "Just remember the words: _semper fidelius maneo_." 

This time, with the imagined glow of heroism still warming me, banishing all my former nerves, I manage to get the words right. The house shimmers briefly, and I feel something click inside me, like a lock turning, but nothing else appears to change. 

James turns to me and shakes my hand, grinning. "That's it, mate. Let's just hope that does the trick," he says. "Thanks for doing this for us, Wormtail. If there's ever anything I can do for you --" 

"No trouble, mate," I mumble. "Think nothing of it." 

I'm suddenly assailed by feelings of doubt and guilt. What if this doesn't work? If it goes wrong, I'm fucked, and so are James, Lily, and the baby. I resolve not to think about that possibility, but can't quite bring myself to meet James's eyes as I mount my broom and fly out of Godric's Hollow, feeling less and less like a hero every second. 

* * *

I've never felt so twitchy in my life, and I'm not, by nature, a relaxed individual. It takes me days to work up the courage to send word to the Dark Lord that I've been made Secret-Keeper for James and Lily. I watch nervously as the owl disappears into the distance, and spend the next hour pacing the parlour. 

Suddenly, I feel a sensation like cold fingers reaching into my chest and wrapping inexorably around my heart. There's a tug, and I find myself standing in a huge, chilly, torch-lit room. The Dark Lord sits in a throne-like chair, looking down at me with imperious disdain. 

"Tell me," he says, and the icy power of his voice forces me to my knees. 

"M -- my Lord," I say, unable to raise my eyes from the dank stone cobbles of the floor. "The Potters have placed a Fidelius Charm on their home, and have made me their Secret-Keeper --" 

"I see," the Dark Lord says thoughtfully. 

I dare to raise my eyes then. I can see that the Dark Lord is thinking, turning over all the implications of the charm. 

At last, a cold smile uncurls on his lips. "You have done unexpectedly well, Peter, least of my servants," he says. "Your service will be rewarded. But only when the last of wizardkind bearing the name of 'Potter' takes his final breath." Cold eyes gaze into mine. "Of this you may be certain, Peter. I always keep my word." 

A chill goes through me. He means to kill them all. Even the baby. And I'm suddenly not so sure that James can beat him. After all, James hasn't met the man. 

"But if your information proves false, Peter," the Dark Lord continues, "know that there is nowhere you can hide that I or my faithful servants will not find you." 

I open my mouth to reply, but as suddenly as I arrived in the cavernous room, I'm in my flat again, shaking and sweating in bone-deep fear. 

* * *

The next evening, when the knock comes on my door, I'm expecting children demanding sweets. But instead, I open it to find Maddy standing on the doorstep, looking nonplussed. 

"I've been sent to fetch you," she says shortly. 

I feel slightly ill. "Fetch me where?" I ask. 

"He wants to see you," she says. "You're to deliver the Potters to him tonight." 

"Tonight?" I can feel the blood draining from my face. 

She smiles nastily. "Why wait? Anyway, I've brought a Portkey." She gestures at the nondescript Muggle handbag she's carrying. "Let's go." 

She holds out the bag to me, and I hesitantly lay a hand on it. She taps it with her wand to activate it. " _Aperti portum_." 

Almost immediately, we're standing in the torch-lit room again. I let go of the bag and look around. We're alone. 

"Where is he?" I ask nervously. 

"How should I know?" Maddy sounds annoyed. "He's an important man. He's got more things to deal with than your little friends. We wait." 

At first, I try making small talk with Maddy, asking her how she's been, but she ignores me utterly, and after a few attempts, I give up. We wait in silence for nearly an hour before a soft _pop_ announces the arrival of another person in the room. 

"My Lord," Maddy says at once, falling gracefully to her knees. I quickly follow suit. 

"Madeleine, sweet child," says the tall, cold man, placing a hand on her cheek. "There is no need for you to be so submissive in my presence. I know it is not your nature." 

Maddy rises. "I've brought you Peter, as you commanded, my Lord." 

"Your continued faithful service shall ever be rewarded, my child." He turns to me. "Are you prepared to do what I require of you, Peter?" 

My eyes are fixed on the floor. "I am, my Lord," I reply quietly. What else can I do at this point? Merlin, I hope this works. 

"Tell me then, Peter. Where will I find the Potters?" 

I know there's no going back. I must tell what I know, or I won't survive the night. One does not lie to the Dark Lord and live. He and Maddy are both watching me, waiting. 

"The Potters --" My voice cracks, and I stop to clear my throat. "The Potters may be found at Number Sixteen Pumpkin Lane in Godric's Hollow." 

I have broken James's trust, and I know it. May he forgive me, one day. 

"I believe you speak truly, Peter," the Dark Lord says. "We shall go at once. Give me your wand." 

"What?" I ask, startled. To demand another wizard's wand is taboo. 

"Peter, my servant," says the Dark Lord impatiently. "Trust must be earned. And while I trust that you have furnished me with good information concerning the Potters' location, I do not yet trust you not to change your mind at the last moment and try to save them. Give me your wand." 

Reluctantly, I hand over almost the last shred of protection I possess to the most feared wizard in the world. My only refuge now is my Animagus form. 

"Now, Peter, Madeleine, let us adjourn to Godric's Hollow," the Dark Lord says with a smile of satisfaction. 

I feel as if the bottom has dropped out of my stomach. "You want me -- us -- to go with you?" I ask, shocked, hastily adding, "My Lord?" 

"But of course, Peter," says the Dark Lord, as though he were explaining to an especially slowwitted child. "There must be witnesses to this night, to say what becomes of those who defy me." He pauses, still gazing down at me. "And if it turns out that you have played me false, Peter, why, sweet Madeleine will be there to avenge me swiftly." 

I look down to find a gleaming silver chain has appeared out of nowhere, binding my wrist to Maddy's. 

* * *

We Apparate outside James and Lily's garden gate. The night is dark and deathly still, but I can see a light on in the the kitchen. There's James, making tea and looking worried. I hope he has his wand handy. I hope he's as ready for this as he said he was. This is our ticket to freedom and into the history books. 

"Stay here, both of you," hisses Voldemort. 

He pushes open the garden gate without so much as a creak, but as he starts down the path, I see James freeze and snap his head around to stare out the window into the darkness. Maddy sees it, too, and jerks me down behind the fence. 

I break into a cold sweat as we watch the house. I see James's frightened face and one hand against the window for an instant, then hear a cold voice whisper in the night, " _Avada Kedavra_." 

The door is blown off its hinges in a flash of green light. I grip the fence in anguish. 

" _James!_ " 

" _Shut up!_ " hisses Maddy. 

I look at her without seeing -- wonder if I could choke her with the silver chain -- look back at the house. A minute crawls by, feeling like a year. I can hear nothing that is happening inside. Then suddenly there's a woman screaming and a second flash of green. 

"Lily!" My voice is barely a whisper this time. Maddy ignores me. 

The third flash -- accompanied by a thunderous explosion -- nearly blinds us. When my vision clears, the house is lying in ruins. The whole world seems stunned into silence. 

And then comes the piercing wail of a terrified infant. But how -- ? 

"My Lord?" Maddy whispers nervously. I take advantage of her momentary inattention, and quickly shift to rat form, slipping out of the chain and disappearing into the shadows of the garden. I hide, careful not to rustle so much as a leaf. 

I hear Maddy call to me. "Peter? Peter, where are you?" Then, "Shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit_!" as she realises I'm gone and she's not going to be able to wreak any vengeance upon me. 

Only when I hear her Disapparate do I begin to scurry toward the house. 

_Fuck!_ What have I done? What am I going to do?! 

I have to think fast. It won't be long before the Ministry arrives, and soon this place will be crawling with them, piecing together what's happened. And Maddy won't be slow to spread the word of my part in tonight's events. I'm not going to come out looking very good to either side. 

It's clear that something has happened to the Dark Lord, since he wasn't able to kill the baby -- the last of the Potters. But what? I've got to find my wand. 

I scurry in rat form through the wreckage of the house, passing objects and broken furniture that I recognise from my visit. Movement catches my eye. It's a photograph. James and Lily's wedding. The five of us, smiling together. 

Hopelessness chokes me. I've lost all my friends. James and Lily are dead. Remus and Sirius will never forgive me for what I've done. I'm all alone. 

I find my wand at last, and near it, another that I don't recognise. The Dark Lord's. It must be. I shift back to human form and grab both wands. They might come in handy. 

For the first time, I survey the destruction around me, still unwilling to completely accept the fact of it. The continued wailing draws me to wreckage of the nursery. I lift away a section of roof that's fallen across the top of the cot. The baby lies red-faced and waving his tiny fists in the air. There's blood on his forehead. I try to wipe it away. 

"I'm sorry, Harry," I say tearfully. "I didn't mean for this to happen." 

But the baby continues to cry, uncomprehending. 

"I said I'm bloody _sorry_!" I shout. "What more do you want?!" 

I'm immediately ashamed of my outburst. 

I turn away from the cot, and for the first time, I see the bodies of the friends I've betrayed lying near each other, still and broken in the moonlight. My throat feels tight, but the scene is too horrible for tears. I did this. There's nothing I can do to fix it. Nowhere I can go for help. What am I going to do? 

Then, over the sound of the baby's cries, I hear something else: the distant and familiar roar of an engine. 

Oh, _shit_! Sirius is here already? Without a thought of where I'm going, I turn tail and run. 

* * *

I'm tired and out of breath before I realise that I'm being stupid. Quickly, I Apparate into Mother's darkened parlour. I'm still for a moment, listening, but there's no sound in the house. Quietly, I go out into the back garden and bury the Dark Lord's wand up against the house, where I'll be sure to find it if I ever need to. 

Once that's done, I pause for breath. I need to make a plan. If I don't, I'm as good as dead. It's Azkaban for me, or worse, the Death Eaters. 

For days now, I've been thinking of myself as the hero of the story. The loss of my friends is a shocking blow. It galls me to think of going down in history as a traitor. It would kill Mother. 

I'll have to hide, for now. Sooner or later, someone will come looking for me, and I want to have a plan by then. 

I decide to go to Muggle London; the most crowded and confusing place I can think of. As a rat, I hide in a narrow alley between two huge rubbish bins, my wand lying next to me. And as I crouch there, thinking, a plan begins to form. 

I realise very quickly that it's not the Death Eaters who are the greatest danger to me, nor is it the Ministry. It's Sirius. Sirius is the only one who knows I'm -- I _was_ \-- James and Lily's Secret-Keeper. Everyone else is going to assume that Sirius is a traitor. 

The Death Eaters will go underground with the disappearance of their leader. Why would they stick their necks out to save an innocent man, and one they have cause to hate, at that? It would be so easy let the world assume that Sirius is the one. I have some qualms about letting him take the blame for my actions, but after the events of the night, I can hardly count him as a friend any longer. Better him than me. It's self defence, isn't it? 

I'll have to go into hiding. There's no help for it now. Even if Sirius ends up in Azkaban for my actions, there's no way I'll be safe. The servants of the Dark Lord will want me dead. 

The idea hits me like a bludger, bringing me up short. If I can make them think I'm dead already, I'll be safe. Better to live as a rat than not to live at all. And perhaps I can still "die" a hero. 

* * *

I stage the whole thing very carefully. I even use the close bond of the Marauder friendship to open my mind to Sirius -- to make myself easier to find, and to make certain it's him who finds me first. 

I go to a Muggle store and buy a wickedly sharp knife, then, returning to the alley where I've been hiding, I use the blade to cut off my own index finger. I nearly pass out from the pain and the sight of so much of my own blood, but better to lose a finger than die. Clumsily, I use my want to stop the bleeding, and put the finger into the pocket of my robes. Then I take position atop a sewer grate in the middle of a Muggle marketplace, and wait. 

It's nine o'clock in the morning, nearly twelve hours since James and Lily died, by the time Sirius catches up with me. He looks pale and deranged, and seems to have lost his bike somewhere along the way. The fury of hell is in his eyes when they finally find me. 

" _Peter Pettigrew!_ " His voice rings grim satisfaction across the marketplace. "Did you think you could outrun me?" His wand is out and trained on me. 

But I'm ready for him. "James and Lily, Sirius!" I cry. "How could you?" 

He hesitates, looking startled, and I take advantage of his confusion to implement the final stage of my plan. Pointing my wand into a crowd of Muggles behind my back, I whisper the unforgivable words: " _Avada Kedavra_ ," and in the blinding flash of green light that follows, I transform, flinging away the finger and dropping down into the sewer grate at my feet, pulling my wand along with me. 

* * *

I hide, watching the scene until late in the evening. I see them arrest Sirius. I watch as they question and Obliviate a number of Muggles. I see a stunned and bewildered Remus being led to a waiting Ministry van. And finally, I watch as the Ministry cleanup crew returns the street to normal, so that the market can open as usual the next day. None of the Muggles will remember anything that has happened here. 

"Well, I guess that's it," says a redheaded Ministry wizard, wiping his brow and looking very weary. " _Merlin_ , but it will be good to get home after a day like this!" 

The rest of the cleanup crew nod wearily. 

"I'm just glad I have tomorrow off," the redheaded man continues. "I promised little Percy a pet for his birthday, over two months ago. He's been asking every day since then. I should stop by Diagon Alley and pick him up something." 

Unnoticed, I slip into the remaining Ministry van, and wait.


	4. The Keeper of Secrets

I am cold. Was I always cold? I cannot remember. It is hard for me to remember anything. All I know is Mummy and Daddy keep me warm and safe. They always have and they always will. When I am feeling worried, all I have to do is open my mouth and wail, and they are there to make it better. That is how it is, and I am content. 

Daddy smiles a lot. That makes me smile, too. And he laughs. He tells me things that make him laugh when Mummy is not there. Daddy says he has a plan. I do not know what that means, but it makes him happy. I am glad he is happy. Sometimes he and Mummy seem scared, and that is scary for me, too. If Daddy is happy, that means nothing bad can happen. 

Daddy tells me his plan about a Secret-Keeper. He says I am the only one who knows. I am just like a little Marauder, whatever that means. He talks and laughs about Uncle Puffut and someone else called Wormy. 

I like Uncle Puffut. He takes me flying up high on his big, loud flyer-thing. That makes Daddy laugh, too, but sometimes Mummy shouts at Uncle Puffut when we come back down. Sometimes Uncle Puffut is all black and furry, but I still know it is him. 

* * *

I make loud sounds and throw my toys away. I want attention! Mummy picks me up. I cry louder so she will comfort me, but she is scared and there is no comfort. 

Mummy puts me into my warm clothes and takes me outside. I like outside. Even when it is cold and windy. That makes me think of Uncle Puffut and his flyer-thing again and I stop crying. Mummy puts my feet on the ground and holds my hand. I can walk just like a big person, now! 

Mummy picks me up and we sit in a chair. She talks to me. She says "Harry" and "Mummy" and "baby" and "bigbrother" which is a word I do not know. I am the baby. I am Harry, too. She is Mummy. And she is smiling now. Maybe she is not scared. I smile too. 

Mummy puts me back down, and I go to play with the plant-things. The red plant-thing wraps all around my arms and legs. It tickles! I giggle until Mummy comes and takes me away from it. I like the plant-thing. I want to go back. But we go into the house instead. 

* * *

The door ding-dongs. Uncle Puffut and Uncle Moony are here! They have come to play with me. Uncle Puffut picks me up and spins me around! He calls me his favourite little Marauder. I still do not know what that means. We play a game with my toy Snitch. Uncle Puffut throws it and I bat at it with my hand when it comes close. 

When good smells come from the food room, Uncle Puffut takes out his pointy-stick and makes me fly to the table! _Whee!_ Mummy frowns at him. 

While Mummy and Daddy and Uncle Puffut and Uncle Moony and Mr Wormy are eating food, they all frown and look scared and do not pay any attention to me. I cry and wail, but Mummy only pats me sometimes. This is no good. It is boring and scary at the same time. 

I do not like Mr Wormy. His eyes flick all over the place, but he does not look at me. I hope he will not try to pick me up. I do not think Daddy likes him either. If Daddy does not like him, he must be bad. 

Daddy picks up the food-holders and Mummy picks me up. She gives me to Uncle Moony, and he takes me back outside. I like outside. And I like Uncle Moony. I wish he did not look so sad. He tries humming and bouncing me, so I will not know he is sad, but it does not work. If Uncle Moony is sad, then I am sad. 

Uncle Moony stops humming and talks to me. I do not understand many of the words. He keeps talking about Uncle Puffut, and sometimes Mummy and Daddy too. He is very sad. He does not cry like me. He is quiet, but his face is wet. I watch his face and am quiet too. I want to tell him that he should cry loud, so Mummy and Daddy can hear him, then they can comfort him and everything will be good. 

Uncle Moony takes me back inside and gives me to Daddy. Mummy hugs him, and then we stand at the door and wave bye-bye to everyone. 

* * *

Mummy and I are going to have a nap. Sometimes she makes me have a nap when I do not want to, but today she stays with me. I like sleeping when Mummy is there. It feels safe, and today I am sleepy. She rocks me and bounces me, but we do not lie down. I do not understand. Mummy cannot nap standing up. 

Soon, I am very sleepy. It is warm and dark and Mummy is here. I am safe. I close my eyes as Mummy lays me down on the bed. 

* * *

Mummy is picking me up again. Do I have to wake up? She smells like milk. I am hungry. There is red on her face. She is not wearing any clothes. The milk tastes funny, but I do not care. 

Mummy keeps moving me around. It is hard to keep feeding when she does that. I wish she would stop. 

_Ow!_ That _hurt_ , Mummy! Why did you do that? She made something sharp touch my head. I did not like it at all. I tell her so, loudly. 

Mummy holds me close, calling me soft things. She is scared and crying and damp. It is all very bad. She puts something cold on my head, and I forget to be loud. I try to look at it, but it is too close, and then it is gone and I can only see Mummy. 

She lays me down on the bed again, but I do not want her to. She should still be holding me. She is talking to someone I cannot see. I do not like this. It is all very bad. 

Mummy is standing by the bed. Suddenly she makes a loud, scared sound. This is even worse than all the bad before! I want it to stop. I want Mummy to hold me and tell me everything is good. I say so as loudly as I can, but Mummy does not answer and she does not come to me. Why not? I _want_ her! 

Daddy is outside the door. He is shouting. Why is he not in here? He should be in here making things better, not out there being loud. I make louder sounds so he will know this. 

Finally Daddy opens the door, but he does not pick me up. Can he not hear me? Daddy, make things better! He and Mummy are on the floor. I cannot see them. Daddy is making scared sounds. 

It is a long time before Daddy picks me up. But it does not make anything better. 

* * *

Daddy makes me some clothes that look just like his favourite ones. All red and yellow. He keeps talking about Quidditch, which is Daddy's favourite thing besides me and Mummy. 

Mummy is sad all the time now. She does not cry, but she does not do anything else either. Daddy is sad, too, and so am I. And scared. I do not understand. Daddy holds me on his lap and does not say anything. He just looks out the window. 

I am sleepy. Daddy puts me in my bed. He leaves and it is all dark and quiet. Sometimes I can hear him talking to Mummy, but I do not hear her. I hear him moving in the food-room, making clacking sounds with the food-holders. Then he is very quiet. 

Suddenly, he is shouting. He shouts to Mummy and says my name. I do not understand what he is talking about, but he shouts loud enough that I hear all the words. 

"Lily, take Harry and go!" he yells. "It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off --" 

Mummy is in my room. I can see her in the dark, but I do not think she can see me. She is coming to me. I stand up in my bed and reach for her. 

There is a big _boom_ sound and a bright light. Mummy falls down and calls for Daddy. Someone is laughing in the food-room. It is not a nice laugh. It is scary and makes me cry. It is not Daddy or Uncle Puffut or Uncle Moony. Maybe it is the bad Wormy man. 

Mummy does not come to me. She just stands and looks out the door. Can she not hear me? I make louder sounds. 

Mummy says my name, but she is not looking at me. "Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!" 

Someone else is talking to Mummy. "Stand aside, you silly girl ... stand aside, now." 

"Not Harry! Not Harry! Please -- I'll do anything --" 

I cannot see what is happening. I cannot see the bad man who is talking to my Mummy and making her so scared. 

"Stand aside -- stand aside, girl --" 

"Not Harry! Please ... have mercy ... have mercy!" He is pushing my Mummy out of the way! "Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead --" 

And then he makes that bad laugh again and there is another _boom_ sound and a bright light and Mummy is lying on the floor. She does not move. It is very scary. 

The bad man is in the room with me. I make loud sounds telling him to go away and leave us alone. But he does not go. He comes toward me instead. He has a pointy-stick, and he is pointing it at me. I do not think he is going to make me fly. 

He says bad-sounding words to me. There is another _boom_ and light. It _hurts_! Make it stop, Mummy! Daddy! Make it stop! 

Everything is falling. The house is falling. Pieces of it are falling on me. At least the bad man is not laughing anymore. I think he is gone now. 

Someone come help me! Find me! Pick me up! Make it all better! Help! 

Someone is here. I can hear them. They are moving in the dark. I am still in my bed, but I can see the sky. Why is my bed outside? I cannot move. Someone takes a piece of the house off me and I can see that it is Mr Wormy, the bad man. It _was_ him! He hurt my Mummy and Daddy, and laughed! He is a very bad man! 

I tell him to go away, but he is trying to touch my head where it hurts. He talks to me and says my name. At first, he sounds sad, but then he shouts at me. I do not like him! I want him to go away. Soon he does. 

There is a sound. It is a sound I know. It sounds like Uncle Puffut's flyer-thing. Uncle Puffut will pick me up. He will make everything better. I make loud sounds so he will find me in the dark. Why is he taking so long? 

I hear him saying "Harry", which is me. Then I see him. His face is wet and his hair is all mussed up. He is taking my bed apart and taking me out of it. Finally someone good has come to pick me up. Uncle Puffut and Uncle Moony will make Mummy and Daddy wake up. Everything will be better now. 

Uncle Puffut rocks me and sings to me and wraps me in a blanket. I am warm and safe again. And there is my Snitch! Uncle Puffut and I are going to play with it again! He says we are going to his house. Uncle Moony will be there, too. And we are going to fly on his flyer-thing! Yay, flying! Yay, Uncle Moony! Yay, Uncle Puffut! 

But someone else is here, too. Uncle Puffut sounds scared, but it is only the big, hairy man. I like the hairy man. He is sad, though. Why is everyone sad? 

Uncle Puffut and the hairy man are talking, saying my name and saying "no" a lot. Uncle Puffut hugs me and gives me to the hairy man. But we are still going to fly on the flyer-thing. We will come back for Uncle Puffut and play with the Snitch later. And Mummy and Daddy and Uncle Moony can play, too. 

  


~ THE END ~


End file.
